


The Dominant Sex

by sharptoothed



Category: Dangerous Liaisons (1988), Les liaisons dangereuses | Dangerous Liaisons - Choderlos de Laclos
Genre: Dom/sub, F/M, Femdom, I LIVE FOR THIS SHIT YALL ALWAYS DO IT WRONG, Light Bondage, Orgasm Delay/Denial
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-01-05
Updated: 2015-01-05
Packaged: 2018-03-05 12:50:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,116
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3120764
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sharptoothed/pseuds/sharptoothed
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The marquise and the vicomte are new in their relationship, and exploring. They find they have tastes in common.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Dominant Sex

**Author's Note:**

> y'all need to learn who holds the fucking reins in this relationship
> 
> anyway there will likely be more parts of this eventually. i have a lot of valteuil d/s to get out of my system since y'all have been denying me so viciously

The beauty of the dominant sex’s submission is something Isabelle learns early.

There is glory in the way a man’s breath catches when she pulls his hair. The strike of the crop and the ensuing cry is divinity. The oaths of her possession over them, the desperate pleading, begging for release, the moaning and whining for something that she may never quite feel like giving - these are reasons to survive in themselves. It’s not pleasure Isabelle is after, it’s knowledge. What she has learned is this:

Men are prettiest on their knees.

She has many affairs in this vein. It’s not a requirement to sleep with her, no, but she enjoys it so much that she begins to seek out men she has no doubt will comply. She will admit, however, that she did not expect it of the Vicomte de Valmont.

It’s simply a very welcome surprise.

She finds out entirely on accident. Something small - he doesn’t speak to her quite as respectfully as she might like, or something along those lines. She snaps at him to show her the proper respect and he flushes pink, mumbles deference. Something little, easy. But quite enough for her to know.

Isabelle begins giving him orders. Little things for him to do. He obeys them and comes back for more, every time, waiting for her command like a well-trained dog. One day they are speaking casually, sitting on her couch; the conversation lulls and tension burns between them. They’ve had sex, yes, many times. Usual sex, nice enough, but nothing genuinely exciting. Nothing that lets Isabelle own him the way she knows he wants her to, the way she knows is her right.

She rises from her seat so she’s standing above him. He remains exactly where he is, almost trembling, and she grabs him by his cravat and looks him dead in the eye and asks him whom he belongs to.

The sigh that slips past his lips is music.

“Maîtresse.”

Oh, that feels good. The word is heat deep in her belly, spreading through the whole of herself, lighting her on fire. But he has not answered her question, and she tells him so.

He straightens immediately to correct the mistake, even though his voice is still breathy and high. “You, madame, I belong to you. All yours.”

 _“Good_ boy.”

He whines softly and she settles down to straddle him, kissing him deep, clawing down his back with her nails. He’s already hard beneath her and she grinds down on the bulge of his cock, the soft gasps he lets out each tiny rewards. He’s a whore but she feels like she could ruin him, spoil him like a virgin waiting for marriage, and when she finally drags herself away from desperate lips the flush on his face is straight from some portrait of pretty innocence lost. He looks like an angel in the midst of falling.

“You’ve never done this before.”

“No. Not like this.”

“How do you know it’s what you want, then?” She refuses to proceed if she does not own him completely. If there is any uncertainty in him she will wait it out until it is gone. She will not have him unsure.

Valmont groans, frustrated, and pushes his head down against her chest like an irritated animal. (He does not miss the opportunity to press kisses to her bosom, which she appreciates.) “Isabelle, I am a grown man and an experienced one. I know what I want.”

“And what is it that you want?” She busies herself untying the ribbon in his hair, running her fingers through it. He lets out his breath in a soft huff.

“I want to be yours. I want you to take me and fuck me and own me, I want you to have me, I want to follow your orders and make you proud of me. I want to be so good for you, I’ve never wanted to be good for anybody. I know what I want and what I want is for you to have me completely. _Please.”_

It’s a little theatrical - then, what about Valmont isn't - but it does serve to stoke the fire in her loins, and she tilts his head up and kisses him again, smiles when he whispers “please” into her mouth. He’s on the edge of distress at the thought that she might reject him, and she strokes his hair again, her voice a low soft purr when she speaks.

“Alright,” she soothes, “alright.”

It seems to be enough for him. He’s spreading his legs slightly beneath her, looking up at her with want in his eyes. Things have clearly changed between them now, though, and where before he might have ground up into her and started kissing her, all hard seductive advance, now he waits to see what she wants him to do. He would not dare touch her without permission, now. She doesn’t like the idea of sexual anxiety in him - his forwardness is part of what drew her to him in the first place - but she appreciates the deference to her superiority. She will have to see what she can do with that.

At any rate now she reaches between them and traces over his cock in long, slow circles. He groans under his breath and shuts his eyes, rolling his hips into her touch, but before he can bring himself into genuine pleasure she is off him, leaving him bare and untouched entirely.

“No -”

“Hush. I’ll be back in a moment.”

“Are we actually - do you intend to invite me upstairs?”

“Oh no, nothing like that.” She leans over him, balancing one hand on the arm of the sofa. “No, Sébastien, I am going to fuck you here in my sitting room, and you’re going to moan for me and beg me to let you come and make my servants wonder what the hell could be going on that’s giving you such pleasure, and then you are going to go home, and that will be all I’ll require your company for today. Understand?”

“Oh,” he breathes, and she takes great pleasure in the involuntary arch of his back. “Oui, madame.”

“Good boy.”

She leaves him with that, going upstairs to the room behind her mirror and finding things to bring for him. She takes her sweet time with her déshabille, pulling off layers and layers of ridiculous fluff until she is in nothing but her corset and stockings, then finally comes back downstairs.

Sébastien’s worked himself into a state. He is very clearly and pointedly not touching himself, but his head is lolled back across the top of the sofa, eyes closed, breath coming heavy. His erection has abated only faintly, and he keeps rolling his hips down in an effort to find any form of stimulation that would not involve active masturbation. Isabelle grins, padding toward him on cat feet, and blindfolds him.

“Oh -”

“Hello.” She kisses his jaw, already working the buttons on his trousers. The humidity between her thighs is half-unbearable, and she is quite ready to get on with the act already. It’s marvelous to draw the waiting out, torment Valmont, but a woman has needs.

He has a very pretty cock.

Is it the prettiest cock in the world? No. But it is nice to look at once she’s got it exposed - about six or seven inches, nestled in dark soft curls that are as well-maintained as the rest of him. She strokes a finger up the underside and watches him twitch, grins when he gasps. She decides he is not allowed to touch it, informs him so, and binds his hands with another scrap of fabric she’s brought with her. These are very basic things she’s doing to him, almost like tests - things that someone unexposed to her tastes would consider filthy, but only the very beginning of the book for her. Valmont is new. He needs time.

Isabelle sinks down onto him without another word and moans, arching, louder than strictly necessary. He is already practically in agony, movement restricted as it is, and she hums and starts to ride him proper, rolling her hips down and closing her eyes. He tries to kiss her and his lips land on her shoulder, glancing off. This is beyond his control.

She drags her nails down his sides, watching him shudder under the faint pain, and then brings her left hand to rub her clit in quick, tight circles that make her breath come faster. It’s like he’s not even there, she is just using him to achieve an end, and she shudders at the thought. He is hers, he has sworn that he is hers. She can use him as she likes, and if what she likes at the moment is a glorified sex toy, whining and needy beneath her, well...it’s a valid use in her book.

“So good,” she sighs, teasing him on purpose. “Oh, _Sébastien, yes…”_ He moans, thrusting up into her, and she pushes down on his hip with her hand, bouncing harder on his cock even as she does.

“You are not to come,” she murmurs into his ear, “until I say so.”

He bites his lip very hard, as if holding back a retort, and nods.

And she fucks herself on him and keeps doing it till she comes, reaches blistering orgasm in a moment that verges on divine. He moans beneath her, desperate, but stills himself hard, like a stallion screeching to a halt. She tells him how good he is, how amazing she feels, and repeats the whole affair till she comes again, and again, and again. Four orgasms later Valmont is sweating and desperate, ruining his clothes, his hair clinging to his forehead, hard as a rock and quivering with need. He begs her and every word is a moan off whorish lips and she loves it.

“Isabelle. Isabelle. Maîtresse. Please. Please, I can’t -” his voice cracks charmingly and she hums, “oh please, please, I can’t take it anymore. Please.”

He’s never been denied anything like this in his life, of course. She should keep it going for that reason alone, but magnanimity wins out.

“Slut.” He’s near tears with desperation, and he moans at the word, nodding, praying she’ll allow him release. “Come.”

He does. He comes hard, pushing himself up against her with the absence of his arms to cling to her like a savior, and moaning louder than she’s ever heard him. She clenches tight around him, keeping him tight inside her, rolling down onto him through his orgasm and sighing with him.

He is entirely drained when he’s finished, panting and exhausted. Isabelle is good to him; she takes his face in her hands and draws the blindfold off gently, lets him look at her with glazed, lovesick eyes. “Oh God,” he breathes, and it sounds like a prayer, like he is witnessing divinity in her very face. “Oh, that was...that was so good, oh Isabelle…”

“Shhh.” His voice is fucked-out, rough around the edges, and it’s delicious but he’s clearly spent. She kisses his jaw again, reaching down to unbind his hands, pulling herself off of him as he starts to go soft inside her. “Good, then? Something you would be willing to continue?”

“Yes,” he says too vehemently, and she grins, petting him lightly.

“Good. I enjoyed that very much.”

He nuzzles into her neck, sighing happily, and he feels like he’s drifting off. She had fully intended to send him on his way once they were finished, but it’s like having a sleepy kitten on her hands, yawning softly against her skin, and she ends up just stroking his hair, kissing his temple.

“Come on. I refuse to let you fall asleep on my sofa in this state, I have visitors coming later.”

“You don’t let men sleep in your bed.”

“No, I don’t,” she agrees. “For this purpose I have many guest rooms. Come.” She slides off his lap and onto the floor, feeling the gentle, satisfying drip out of her that ends up on the wooden floor. She rings a bell on the table before the sofa and knows that once they are certain she has left there will be servants in to straighten things, make everything immaculate for Mme. de Volanges’ arrival.

She gives Valmont the room across from hers and leaves him to undress himself, trusting that he can stay awake long enough to attend to basic preparations for sleep, then heads back out to clean herself and redress.

She likes this change very well, she finds. It will be a pleasure to see where it leads.

 


End file.
